


Phases of the Moon

by npgirard



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Full Shift Werewolves, Jock Derek Hale, Jock Jackson Whittemore, M/M, Nerd Stiles Stilinski, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:08:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27597992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/npgirard/pseuds/npgirard
Summary: Stiles doesn't remember how it all started, or where it began. All he remembers is a relatively normal life. His dad is the sheriff, his best friend has asthma, and he thought he was in love with the school genius. What he knows now, is that there are things in the shadows and he has been hunted. For how long, he isn't sure, but is certain that he should have heeded the warning his instincts were telling him.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski
Kudos: 17





	Phases of the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, please let me know what you think! Sorry for any errors. I would like to give credit to Teen Wolf, for the characters and inspiration.  
> I have fleshed this out more and added some of my own poetry to try and give some more emotion. It is kind of a personal experiment for me, so let me know if it helps, hinders, or doesn't add much.

Dark, morbid, quiet, calm. The forest stands ahead in a smattering of dark greens and browns. Melting into one another; a looming skyline backlit by the waxing moon. The treetops above melting with the moon, yet there is no light streaming on to the mossy ground. Twisted and gnarled branches grabbing and tearing. The quiet is broken by the panting of a ghastly face. Harsh and labored. The moss and algae covering the decayed and dying leaves soften the footfalls. Running. Running. Running. 

"There's nowhere else to go," is hissed from between glinting teeth, sharp as knives, under the leering gaze of a man. Walking calmly. Stalking. Hunting. As if taking a nice stroll in the dead of night was commonplace. Although, perhaps, for him it is. Indicative only by the way he knows where to go. Walking, striding, hunting in his own territory.

Not much longer does a jackrabbiting heartbeat end. One final step over the whitecaps. One moment running, the next silence. No moon, no trees, no man with too many teeth and ominously glowing eyes that seem to know too much. Enjoying in the torment of those who don't or can't understand, and won't believe what's right in front of them. There is nothing around but a dark, morbid, quiet calm.

Stiles doesn't remember his week starting like this. It didn't start out horribly, or foreboding. There were no omens of imminent danger and terror. It started on a sunny day with blue skies, maybe a couple of clouds, but otherwise nothing that screamed to stay inside and locked away until the danger passed. 

I am but a container  
A vessel, a vase, a bowl  
But I am not filled with water  
Or with liquids of any kind

What I contain, what I cradle   
Is fire, a flame  
Something tangible, yet intangible  
For when you lay your hand on a flame  
You are burned  
But from a distance, you feel its warmth

Warmth for others  
That radiates out and fills a space  
Draws attention, demands  
Gathers the gaze of man and beast

This flame is surrounded  
Shrouded  
Veiled

I hold warmth for others  
And possibly  
Distantly   
For myself

"Stiles! Wake up, son, you've got school in about an hour and I am about to hit the hay" Sheriff Stilinski chuckled as he leaned against the door jamb to his wayward son’s room watching his floundering son pinwheel upright. His curly bronze hair sticking to his face, like the helmet of a gladiator. Long limbs scrabbling every which way on his way to the closet for some new clothes and a fresh towel. "Don't forget to pack lunch this morning, I don't have enough cash for you to buy lunch today." Noah couldn’t help but reminisce at seeing his son, who looked so much like his late wife; hoping he was making her proud, and knowing she would be proud of the young man their son was becoming. 

"Good morning to you too, dad" Came the grumbled reply as Stiles passed his father, giving him a tight hug and a quiet "thanks," on his way to the bathroom, noticing how his father’s gaze seemed to shift somewhere slightly off into the distance and figuring out quite quickly why. It had been nearly ten years since his mother had passed, but every time Stiles did something that reminded his dad of his mom he would see that same look cross his father’s face.

Neither one of them spoke much about her any more, unless it was a holiday or anniversary. Stiles didn’t want to bring it up for fear of hurting his father, and Noah did not simply know how to broach the topic himself. There was a quiet understanding between the two, after so many years dancing around the subject. Unfortunately for them, there wasn’t a whole lot of time for the two to go in to see a grief counselor together. Noah, being the Sheriff, worked odd hours to make sure the town they lived in was safe for the people; and Stiles would have gone by himself after school, a family friend driving him there. 

"Make sure you and Scott don't get into too much trouble today, okay son?" As warm whiskey eyes pulled back from the hug to stare up into light grey. Said whiskey brown rolling at his father's common statement. Whatever tension had formed from the Sheriff’s quiet demeanor seemed to have gone as quickly as it came. 

"Hey! It's not my fault Harris hates me! I barely do anything, and he hands me a detention for it," Stiles squawked as Noah walked back towards his bedroom, combing his fingers through his own dirty blond sports cut.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll believe it when I see it," the Sheriff yawned on his way to his own room. "I love you, son, have a good day."

"I love you too, dad," came the muffled exclamation, as the showerhead turned on. As he got ready for school, Stiles’ thoughts drifted back to his mom. He looked a lot like her, if the pictures on the walls were any indication. Not to mention the little incident with his dad this morning. His dad, who would very often complain about how he wondered where he got some of his quirks from. Like not being very well coordinated or lack of attention span. 

Continuing his train of thought as he drove through town, Stiles could see why his parents had chosen to settle down here. Beacon Hills was a quaint little town on the West coast, with a bustling population. Most of whom would often drive into the next county to work in the larger city there. While on the smaller side, Beacon Hills still had a decent job market. Orchard avenue had all of the best shops, where most of the high school population found work. There were bars, restaurants, boutiques, and almost any other type of store you could want. 

The town did well for itself, thanks to the local mental institution that was reportedly haunted. Although, experts claimed it to be because most of the hospital was still open and accepting patients. The locals would share stories and tales of feral beasts and ghouls still roaming the streets. A few even made a business of it. 

There was more than just the haunts that drew people in. There was a national preserve that the town was originally settled in, some of the surrounding trees and landscape being eaten up by the town before activists in the 60’s and 70’s rioted to preserve the rest. A lot of the younger crowd appreciates the local forests for its seclusion. Parties and couples often being caught and sent back home with a slap on the wrist or a call to the parents.

In a small town like this everyone knew each other, but there was still some separation that you could always meet someone new. 

What if we could text the dead?  
Send a message about our day  
No talking to names, just messages instead  
But do you know what you would say?

Arriving at school, Stiles parked near the back of the lot to avoid the fancy Porsche and it's owner in the front row. "Great, Jackson is already here. Probably waiting to sling another insult in my direction when I walk in," he mumbled under his breath, getting him and his things out of his baby blue jeep and heading towards the school. Jackson was the school’s lacrosse captain and last year’s homecoming king. He and his girlfriend were the stereotypical jock and cheerleader couple. He would often lead his pack of lacrosse buddies throughout the day boasting about sports and girls. 

"Stiles! Hey buddy! What are you doing after school," Stiles' best friend, Scott, came rushing up to him. His black hair was pointing every direction, like he hadn’t gotten a chance to tame it back into place before leaving; his crooked, tanned jaw breaking out into a wide grin upon jogging over. 

"Hey, Scotty-boy, I am assuming I’ll be taking you home based on the hopeful expression on your face is anything to go by," Stiles chuckled as he got inside and headed towards his first class, stopping by his locker to get some textbooks out. Before Scott could answer, he felt his neck hairs rising from being watched. Closing his locker, and looking around, he saw Jackson glaring him down from the other side of the hall. "Great, I’ve been spotted, let's head to English now. Speaking of, did you ever end up studying for the quiz, or were you still mooning over Allison?"

"Hey! We broke up last week, give me a chance to grieve man! Not cool," Scott blushed as he seemed to lose focus on what was around him, being reminded of his ex girlfriend he was still in love with. "Also, I did study, despite your skeptic look. I told you, and my mom, that school would be coming first this year!"

"I know, buddy, I just love to tease you. You make it so easy. But, regardless, I'll be here for you if you need help. It was a big risk for you to take AP English this year, I don't want you to fail." Stiles was worried for Scott, he wanted to get into a really good school to become a veterinarian, but he always struggled with making good grades. It was partially why they had become best friends in the first place, Stiles saw Scott struggling on his multiplication in elementary school and the rest was history. 

"Thanks, but you know we can't study together. We end up just eating junk food and playing video games. I-"

"What are the happy couple talking about, besides getting each other off," snickered Jackson as he slung his arms around the two best friends. Earning an eye roll from Stiles, and Scott ducking out from under his arm. 

"Leave us alone, Jacks, we can smell the ass on your breath-"

"Watch it Stilinski, or you'll get a taste of more than just that," the jock replied, making a lewd gesture and shoving the teen into the adjacent wall of lockers. Before Stiles could reply, the first bell rang, giving everyone a couple of minutes before being considered late. Jackson shoved off from the boy, and continued on to class, chuckling with his lacrosse teammates on the way. 

"Ugh, he's such an ass," Stiles spat as he headed in his own direction, mentally preparing for the day if it was going to start with Jackson harassing him yet again.

"Don't worry, Stiles, he's just a bully. Plus, we have a quiz to take, to let's just try and focus on that," Scott chirped back happily. Ever the optimist, Stiles knew he could get through anything with his best friend by his side. His mind began to wander back to the quiz they were walking into, and the dark haired basketball captain who only seemed to glare at Stiles while Jackson was holding him up against the locker. 

Stupid, glowering, golden boy Derek. He was the talk of the school. Everyone wanted to be with him. He was perpetually single, always getting hit, and always turning people down. Derek was never outright rude to anyone, he could downright be a player when he wanted to. Stiles had seen him flirt for free shots of espresso at the coffee shop. It was odd to have seen him trailing behind Jackson like that, but he figured it was only for some project in a class they shared together. There was also the possibility of both teams’ coach putting them together. The dude was an oddball that really liked pairing students up for projects, or having the sports teams all do trust exercises between different sports.

From the woods, a pair of eyes glowed dangerously at hearing what was going on. A deep growl echoing in the silence at someone else touching what didn’t belong to them. Slinking back into the darkness of the woods, the man kept planning and plotting the final details to finally get what was his. Nothing could stop him from finally taking. After watching and waiting for so long. Soon. Soon he would be able to finally claim.

**Author's Note:**

> I did decide to end it here, for now, but who knows what the future could bring.


End file.
